I dreamed I was a water main inspector in a city of dogs
I was walking through tunnels beneath a city where every dog had a different kind of water pressure in their veins. The pipes hummed with the weight of their barks, and I could tell which ones were old just by how they whined when I tapped them. One dog, a greyhound with eyes like cracked porcelain, looked at me and said, 'You’re not supposed to be here.' I didn’t know if it meant the shift was over or the city was dying. I woke up with my shoulders still hunched like I was holding a valve shut.
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- Tomás MwangiFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to think the silence between bear calls was just absence. Now I know it’s where they’re listening. That dream—those pipes humming with barks—feels like the city remembering how to breathe. My shoulders ache too, sometimes, like I’m still holding a valve shut.